#which makes it feel like he DOES have a favorite person

[soobnny]

no other heart — best friend!kim seungmin x reader ; only one person can ever persuade seungmin to do anything (1.4k words)

happy bday seungmo! you are my favorite person

Seungmin feels Hyunjin before he even sees his face.

He comes in the form of a hand falling firmly on Seungmin’s shoulder, and the first thing the younger boy thinks is that your hands are supposed to be smaller.

The house that they’re in is loud, and really really crowded. It’s a setting that Seungmin doesn’t often take part in, preferring the quiet sounds of his airconditioning back at his room.

There is also a sharp contrast in how the boy favors his music. While he’s currently surrounded by the thrumming of music that beats in his ears, he would rather be at the dorm in the comfort of his lifeline (or, for better words, his collected playlist for the month).

From the corner of his eye, he sees his oldest friend, Chan, talking to a set of faces he’s never seen before. He wonders how the older boy does it. Seungmin has no plans of starting a conversation unlike Chan, not when he’s overstimulated by the flashing lights, and the confusing aromas wafting from the red cups that everyone seems to be holding, and the hand on his shoulder that most definitely is not yours.

“Seungmin, you came!” That’s also definitely not your voice.

“Hyunjinnie.” He breathes out, head muddled by his sudden urge to go home despite just having arrived around half an hour ago. He doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as his friend, but Hyunjin gives the boy a pass. Besides, it’s not everyday you see Kim Seungmin out past 10 in the evening, more less at a party.

Seungmin shifts a little from where he’s standing, just enough for Hyunjin’s hand to fall limp by his side. If you knew him less, you would think he was being rude. However, his indifference does a lot in calming his friend down.

He still has a distaste for parties. At least, this way, Hyunjin knows that no force has taken over Seungmin for his sudden appearance.

“Not to be mean, I’m just genuinely curious. How come you’re he—”

“Seungminnie!”

He shifts his attention to the sound.

There’s your voice, finally your voice, loud and clear to the boy, enough to be heard over the music and the voices and the heat.

There’s a sudden understanding that crosses Hyunjin’s features, and he says something on par with how Seungmin would only ever go to anything if it was you who asked.

“Ah, of course you’re here, (name). That must be why he’s here too.” Hyunjin giggles, sending a wink that looks more like a blink to the both of you before he disappears into the crowd.

Whatever he means.

Hyunjin has always had a knack for being cryptic anyway.

There is no proper greeting when Seungmin finds you, only a flick on your forehead.

“What’s wrong with you,” he says, but there is no grit in his voice. “You asked me to come here, and left me waiting for you for thirty minutes.”

“I was late.” You smile sheepishly, taking his hand in yours before dragging him along the pool of people to lead him outside.

He should be used to it now, the ease in which you link your hands together, as if there’s no need for a warning anymore when you’ve known each other for this long. Still, Seungmin finds it unfair. He needs it, needs the warning before you take his heart hand like this.

“You shouldn’t be asleep on a Friday night like a senior citizen.”

This senior citizen came out all the way here for you, he thinks.

“‘M going home now,” is what he chooses to say.

“No!” You suddenly stop in your tracks, just when you’re about to reach the grassy fields of the backdoor of whoever the hell owned this house.

It makes Seungmin stumble over, feet in a hurry to plant themselves on the ground so he doesn’t crash into you. When you turn to face him with a scolding look on your face, the only thing he can think about is how awfully close you are.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to proximities like these with you. “I’m already here, don’t you want to be with me?”

Seungmin sighs because he does, really does, but not in the way you’re asking right now.

“Plus, there’s supposed to be a comet tonight. I think we’ll be able to see it from here.” Your hand latches back on his, pulling him outside where the cold breeze of the night air greets you.

“There’s been a comet every night since last Wednesday.”

“But the city doesn’t quite get a view of it like this.”

By his fate, because he can never say no to you, he watches the comet falling just as you mention it.

Seungmin supposes you’re right. It is a little nicer out here compared to the light pollution of the city, and there’s a good enough distance between where you are and the painfully loud music of the house, and he doesn’t have to deal with anyone but the one person he cares about.

He chooses not to think about the eventual teasing that’s bound to come his way.

He knows Hyunjin’s spreading word around, that Kim Seungmin is actually here, and his friends already know why.

Because you’re here. What other reason does he need?

And Seungmin supposes he can sacrifice a few hours of sleep. Despite begrudgingly coming here, he doesn’t think he’d be able to trade the way you look right now—with your eyes soft and enchanted, and your features highlighted by the soft glow of the moon, and the small, but fond smile playing at your lips.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“It is.” He’s not looking where you are, and you’re too painfully distracted by the falling comet and the thousand stars blanketing the night sky to notice that he’s only ever looked at you tonight.

“Seungmin?”

His breath hitches when you suddenly turn to him, and there is no other coping mechanism he can think of but clearing his throat and looking anywhere but your eyes.

You take the moment where he’s too distracted to wrap your arms around him.

Seungmin freezes at the contact, the nudge in his heart so visible on his face. It’s a shame you have your head buried on his chest to notice the way he suddenly relaxes, hand gingerly resting on the small of your back for a second before wrapping himself entirely around you.

“Why’re you hugging me all of a sudden?” It sounds like he wants to say more, but he remains hesitant. Instead, he pulls you just a little closer.

“Thanks for coming. I know you hate going out to stuff like this, and I really do feel bad for practically forcing you. But, at the same time, I’m just really happy you came too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to feel bad about.”

Fuck, the way he says it is so awkward, and he cringes at himself for feeling this nervous around you. He tries to steady his pulse, tries to stop the rapid way in which his heart beats because he knows you can hear it.

“I stole your sleeping hours, of course I feel bad. Plus you hate parties, and yet you came here anyway.” You loosen your grip to look up at him.

You’re ill-prepared to see the tenderness in which his eyes are looking at you right now. He does that sometimes. You’ve never quite figured out why.

“Because you asked me to.” He tells you, really tries to tell you without saying too much. “I’d do anything if it was you who asked me, stupid girl.”

It feels like more of a realization to himself, and he doesn’t really want you to think about what he means. At least not tonight, not in the same night he’s come to find out just the lengths he would go through for you. His lips are parted like he wants to say more, but he decides against it. Still, his very few words will leave you blushing for the next few days after tonight and strike up a few realizations of your own.

Seungmin has known, and he’s known what he was signing up for—when he’d come here, when he’d pick you up, when he’d answer your calls at two in the morning.

He likes you a lot, and no other heart will ever make him act this way.

Not like you do.

So, for now, he’ll keep doing anything if you ask him. He’ll keep showing up until he’s ready to commit to the How To Confess scripture. He’s a simple boy, after all.

A simple boy with a simple heart that beats only for you.

[lieslab]

Are you with me?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After struggling with being underweight, you binge out of desperation to gain weight and that's when your boyfriend finds you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.6K

Trigger warning: Insecurities, implied underweight reader, mentions of weight, weight loss, binging, calorie counting, and a mention of nausea.

A/N: I believe that this is the final request I had. I'm so sorry for making you wait forever, life has been hard and this topic is a bit too real and relatable. Please know that your weight doesn't define you. Whether you are thirty pounds, three hundred, or three-thousand, you still deserve love and respect. You are allowed to love yourself no matter what you look like.

Society can be really fucking shitty and harsh. Don't let it tear you down. This is your life and maybe we do only get one. Eat the slice of cake on your birthday. Indulge in your favorite coffee. Weight can fluctuate and be lost or gained, but good memories last a life time. Don't let yourself miss out on experiencing them because you think your weight and the way you look is holding you back. It's easier said than done, but it's entirely possible <3

_ _ _

The brain is a chamber and each thought is a bullet. A complex system full of neural pathways that define who you are. The brain controls your entire being. Your personality, your motor skills, the cognitive ability to retain information, and pull it out later. 

Beneath the skin, we’re all just bones. Chipped and withered skeletons that will one day disintegrate into nothingness. They say life is a blessing. We should cherish it to the best of our ability. We only get one life, supposedly. If that’s true, then why is it so hard? 

Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Thick and thin. Taut skin stretched over hollowed cheekbones. Round cheeks full of facial fat. Sharpened and softened jawlines. No matter what yours looks like, you only get one. 

A random genetic lottery thanks to your parents. You might hate yourself or you might love yourself. No matter which one wins, there always seems to be hiccups. Those times of turmoil where you just can’t seem to go on another day because you are trapped inside your body. The machine that causes you to breathe, it feels like a burden to some. 

You cannot control how the outside world perceives you. You cannot make everyone like yourself. Chasing idolization and devotion is a great bomb of self-destruction. Feelings can be fatal and if you’re not careful, they will be. Drowning in insecurities and letting them weigh you down while the days pass you by isn’t a good way to live. 

Yet…you just couldn’t help it. The way you looked was just overwhelming. You were a mess. Physically, nobody could see it. Mentally, you were overwhelmed and falling apart. Unraveling at the seams and spiraling out of control. 

The whispers of your insecurities had turned into a sympathy of screams. Scorching hot tears streamed down your cheeks in the kitchen. Your weight has always been an issue. People don’t second guess the things they say at times. 

“Gosh, you’re so skinny, you need to put some meat on your bones.” 

“Is that really all you’re going to eat?” 

“One blow from the wind and you’re going to fall over at this rate.” 

Some people are blessed with rapid metabolisms and some are cursed. No matter how much you consume, your body works it off. Over and over and over and over and over. Just when you think you’ve gained a pound, the scale says you’re down another half of a pound. 

What does your boyfriend think about it? He always says you look wonderful, but does he really mean it? What if he’s lying? Members of your family have stated that you look like you’re on your deathbed. 

What if you’re not good enough? What if this body isn’t great? What if nothing changes? What if you’re cursed to be this weight forever? What if? What if? What if? 

It was a spur of the moment decision. Ever since you lost another two pounds within the last week, something inside of you seemed to snap. That’s when you found yourself tearing through kitchen cabinets. 

Thoughts were swirling as you ripped open the package of oreo cookies you bought. It was one and then it was two and you blinked and half the row was gone. Crumbs caked your lips and all you could do was wipe them along your sweater sleeve. 

As much as you were spiraling, you were desperate to gain control. Surely, if you ate enough, you could put on a pound or two, right? Right? You had to. 

Crinkling filled the air as you opened a bag of brand new chips. The kind that were too salty and you knew they weren’t healthy, but you did it anyway. Life felt better with the occasional unhealthy snack. People weren’t perfect and neither were you. 

Staring at the back of the calorie contents, you lost track of how many chips you placed in your mouth. People didn’t seem to binge on the fruits and vegetables. 

It was the sugary sweetened foods that stuck to your sides. The salty chips and pretzels. The kind of food that was full of empty calories, but you didn’t care. You were desperate to gain a pound. 

People don’t understand what it’s like until they’re there. You will never understand what it’s like to be skin and bones until it’s all that you are. You will never understand what it’s like to carry around a pudgy stomach that bounces with every step until you are there. 

Weight fluctuates and bodies are different. We only get one, but it’s so easy to abuse it. To never eat enough. To over consume and eat too much. You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong with your body. 

You ate your food and that was that. It wasn’t a ton of food, but it wasn’t like you were starving yourself either. Yet, at the exact same time, your body seemed to stay thin. 

The more you spiraled, the more you lost track. You didn’t remember what you put in your mouth. Everything tasted like defeat, even the oreos. 

It kept going and going. Your stomach began to ache with the amount of food you consumed, but you couldn’t stop. It was overwhelming and all too much. Everything hurt and you just wanted to break down and sob. 

When you caught the reflection of yourself in the microwave, that’s exactly what you did. The lump in your throat pulsed and the tears welled up again. The box of crackers in your hand dropped to the floor and you grabbed the counter top for support. 

Your body caved and slumped over the cold marble top. With a forehead pressed into the marble, you cried. You cried because it wasn’t fair. You cried because you hated what you were doing to your body. You cried because you were worried about how you were perceived. You cried because everything was overwhelming and too much. You hated yourself and it hurt like hell. 

Piercing sobs racked the empty kitchen and bounced off the walls. They reverberated back to you and you were left alone with the heart-shattering reality of what you were doing. You ate so much, you were nauseous. 

Your stomach twisted and churned. A fresh layer of saliva coated your tongue. The queasy feeling caused you to squeeze your eyes shut. All you could do was just cry harder. 

Your sobs were the first thing that Chan heard when he unlocked and pushed the door open. Fear struck his heart and he ripped off his bag. Not caring that his laptop was in it, it dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. 

He rushed into the kitchen and found you slung over the counter. “Baby? Baby?” His hand went to your back and he tugged you into his arms. 

The warmth of his chest made you cry harder. You hated that this was who you were. Why couldn’t you have another body? Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t it just be different? 

“What’s wrong?” His eyes scanned your face. “Why are you crying? What’s going on? Are you hurt?�� His hands gently cupped your cheeks. He positioned your face up towards him. “Please talk to me.” 

“I-I hate myself,” you uttered hoarsely with a hiccup. “I’m not good enough. I can’t gain weight and I’m a walking skeleton and I-” 

His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”  A reassuring thumb ran over your cheek. 

“My body isn’t good enough. Not for you. Not for me. Not for anyone.” 

Knowing that you thought so negatively of yourself, it stung. It shoved an arrow through his heart and he shook his head. “Listen to me, you’re perfect the way you are. Just because y-” 

“You don’t get it!” You snapped angrily. Your hands shoved at his shoulders and he stumbled back in shock. “You don’t get it because you’re perfect! You can gain weight and you can lose weight. You can do whatever you want and I-” Your voice cracked and cut off. 

He didn’t utter a word. He knew you were struggling, so he just opened his arms. With a quivering bottom lip, you let yourself fall forward. Sturdy arms grabbed you and he pressed your head against his chest. 

The steady lull of his heart made you burst into tears. A weak and hoarse apology fell from your lips. All he could do was quietly shush you as he rubbed your back. 

“I know that it’s hard. I know what it’s like to struggle with your self image. Maybe I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m right here and I love you. Please don’t push me away just because you’re struggling. I might not understand, but we can figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere and you know that.” 

That last reassurance was the final straw. Your knees buckled and your fingers dug into his cotton shirt. Down the both of you went and you landed on his lap. 

He pressed you against him as tight as he dared. With your eyes shut and your forehead pressed into the nape of his neck. He soothed you softly while rubbing your back. 

Even if he didn’t understand exactly, he’d wait here for as long as he had to. He’d be here until the kitchen was pulled into darkness and the sun went down outside. He didn’t care if he had to be here all night. 

He’d do whatever it took to remind you that no matter how you saw yourself, you weren’t entirely alone.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

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[des-writes]

♥ ━ How They'd Ask You Out; SFW

TW; None

Reader; GN, No pronouns or descriptions used

Characters; Al-Haitham, Kaveh, Kaeya & Diluc

Notes at the end

Al-Haitham considers himself someone that doesn't frequently experience romantic feelings. This is completely fine with him, although leaves him just a little puzzled at first when he finds himself flustered when he meets you for the first time. He doesn't let this be known, deciding to shrug this off as just simple physical attraction, considering you're rather easy on the eyes. It makes sense for his face to heat up when you get near. He doesn't remember exactly when or how the two of you started becoming friends, but he does remember when he realizes his feelings are more then just appearance based. It takes you by surprise when he does confess. It's rather sudden—in the middle of the library to be exact—, blunt and there's nothing romantic about it (he later explains how he deems it unnecessary, why would he put so much time into it without knowing if you feel the same? That would make it uncomfortable for both of you, he insisted). He doesn't want to waste time, he tells you. If you feel the same way then great, he'll plan a first 'date' to see if you're both compatible. And if you don't, he'll just walk away and get over his attraction. It does make him happy when you do reciprocate, however.

Al-Haitham plans the date by himself, mainly because it's a very casual date. He doesn't want anything serious or overly romantic, no loud, public events or romantic dinners where everyone can stare at you two. Instead he invites you over to his home, offers you a cup of tea and talks with you about every subject he can think of (while giving you chances to add your own preferred topics). It's a weird first date, but you feel like you're much closer at the end of it. And Al-Haitham is very pleased to know you two mesh well, even if it doesn't say it out loud.

Kaveh doesn't have a ton of dating experience. He's always been good looking and out-going, with quite a few potential suitors. Despite this, he's only been in a few relationships, and none of them have been serious. When Kaveh meets you he's definitely smitten, eager to spend time with you and get to know you better. He's the type of man who befriends a person before thinking about anything beyond a platonic relationship. You both know each other fairly well before he decides to ask you out. Kaveh doesn't make a speculate out of it, not wishing to embarrass himself or you. He would do it in a very private place, most likely when he's visiting you. He specifically plans a time to come over, give you one of your favorite flowers—which he had very carefully picked out, making sure it was in perfect condition— and asks you out. He clarifies it's a date, just so there's no confusion. Should you reject him, he would be a little heartbroken, but completely understanding. He wouldn't let a rejection affect your friendship. Of course if you accepted he would be absolutely ecstatic.

A first date with Kaveh would be more on the romantic side. He does the actual planning, but asks for your preferences and dislikes before making any official plans. The end he takes you to the small mountain that overlooks the The Palace of Alcazarzaray, where the two of you set up a picnic blanket and have lunch. It's a tranquil time and you both enjoy conversation until the sun sets.

Kaeya is known to be rather extroverted and charismatic. He's the type of guy to approach anyone that catches his eye. He's a very desirable man, with many people of various genders showing interest. Kaeya is a bit of a flirt (whether he means to be or not is debatable). Although it's rather lighthearted, he's would drop it in a heartbeat if it made you uncomfortable. Despite this, he isn't much for casual dating. Until he figures out if you mesh well, he doesn't make a move. When he does, he's very cool about it—although a bit nervous—, simply asking you out whenever he sees you next. He respects your decision should you choose to reject him (although he would ask you at least once more—when he knows you better—before entirely giving up). If you do accept his offer he'll be very pleased, telling you to leave it to him and he'll take care of everything. All he does is tell you a date, time and location (and to dress comfortably).

For your first date he wouldn't take you to do anything fancy or too exciting, but would prefer something peaceful with just the two of you around. He would take you out for a walk, taking you through the forest and up to Starsnatch Cliff. It's evening by the time you two arrive, the perfect time to sit down in the grass and watch the sunset.

Diluc is the opposite of Kaeya, in most ways. He prefers keeping to himself in his free time, and during work hours he isn't overly friendly with his customers. It takes him awhile to warm up to people and that's no different with you. While he can admit you're very attractive, he doesn't intend to act on these feelings. Until he notices you coming to the tavern regularly (whether to drink, eat, or just chat with the others customers). It takes awhile, starting with him greeting you when you come in, to him asking how you're doing, and that turning into having pleasant conversations with one another. When he does ask you out, its spontaneous and when the tavern is closing for the night. He would be disappointed should you reject him, but would understand (and would distant himself for awhile after, mostly out of embarrassment). Should you accept, he suggests having a date right then and there.

He doesn't exactly plan out the first date. It was a spur of the moment thing after all. He's still in his work uniform, but figures the tavern is a nice enough place. Everyone else has left by this point, and the only noise is coming from the music in the background. He would make the both of you rather late dinner, and the time chatting for a good part of the night.

Notes; Kaeya's is shorter then I wanted and I severely struggled with Al-Haitham's part. I'm not as happy with it as the others, but I got it done and that's what matters!

I meant to write something sooner but I totally forgot for like a week and rushed to come up with this tonight 😓 My goal is to at least post once a week (every Sunday maybe?) and if that works out I'll try post more!!! Still rusty with my writing so I'm trying not to overwhelm myself.

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 of my new series! This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), imagining some sexy things

Word count: ~2.4k

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Mr. Presley sighs and turns from the window. Will the responsibility of this new life never end?

******

After two weeks in her new position, Annabelle has settled into a new normal at Graceland Manor. It's not one she particularly likes or enjoys, but it's a routine at least. She's finally learned what her responsibilities are and how to do all of them. She's also met everyone in the house and learned who is worth talking to and who isn't. The other maids are not. They're both young and experienced and spend most of their time making snide comments and whispering about her. The cook, Mrs. Hall, is her favorite person, so far. She has a warm, welcoming air about her that makes Annabelle feel at home even in the big house that has no other home-like feeling. She hasn't talked to her much, but she likes her best of all anyway. And the handsome footman that answered the door when she first arrived is the cook’s son. His name is Jimmy and he's been nothing but cordial, albeit maybe a little too friendly. Most everyone else is nice enough, but she doesn't have a real companion among the group.

One of Annabelle's jobs is tending the fires in every room each morning. This means she's up before dawn every day. She doesn't enjoy that part, but it's actually quite nice to move about the house while everyone else is still asleep. Her favorite room is the library, which doubles as Mr. Presley’s private study. She never has much time to spend in there, but she does take a few minutes occasionally to look around at the books, even glancing at his desk a couple of times. He's a mess. There are papers stacked and sticking out of piles everywhere. She's not sure why, but she finds this a little endearing, even if she has sworn to hate him.

About 3 weeks after her first day, Annabelle walks into the library purposefully, ready to light the fire and try to look at the books a little. She's startled when she realizes there is a candle burning and someone sitting at the desk. There's only one person it could possibly be, so she tries to back out of the room as quickly as she can, but she hits the doorframe and it makes a loud thud. He immediately turns and stands up and she gasps.

Mr. Presley has an imposing presence even when he's not angry, so he feels almost terrifying when he is. He glares at her and Annabelle is overwhelmed with the desire to melt into the carpet.

“Where have you been?! It's freezing in here.” She shakes her head and stumbles over her words.

“I-I I'm sorry-”

“There's no excuse.” His eyes are wild and red-rimmed like he's either been crying or hasn't slept or both and his hair looks like he's run his hand through it about a thousand times. Annabelle recognizes the look of distress and her fear turns to compassion.

“Did you… have you been in here all night?” She asks in a small voice. He's obviously disarmed by the fact that she hasn't just run away from him.

“What?”

“You look like… have you slept?” She chances a step towards him and his imposing presence seems to shrink a little.

“That is none of your business! Just light the fire and get out!” He spits at her and turns away. She walks over to the fire and tends to it quickly.

As she works at the fireplace, he turns back and watches her. There was a hint of something in her voice that he hasn't experienced from anyone other than the Mrs. Hall in a very long time. Could it have been kindness?

He softens a bit as he watches her at the fireplace. Her shoulders are delicate and graceful as she works and he has the thought again that she wasn't built for this kind of hard labor. He feels an insane desire to help her, to take the task of making the fire and do it for her, but that would be inappropriate on every level. Still, something about her makes him want to throw propriety out the window and care for her the way men do in stories about knights and ladies. He's lost in this reverie when she finishes and stands up, turning back to him.

Annabelle is shocked to find him watching her when she turns away from the fire. He moves quickly to look somewhere else, but for half a second she could've sworn his expression was gentle.

“Are you finished?” He hisses, not looking at her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Get out. Be earlier tomorrow.” His attempt to put her in the right place in his mind comes out as unnecessary coldness.

“Yes, sir.” Annabelle whispers and goes to walk from the room. But at the door, she pauses and turns back.

“You could tell me… why you haven't slept… if you wanted. No one would listen even if I tried to tell them your secrets.” For a second, he meets her eyes and the warmth he finds there soothes an ache he didn't even know he had. And then he remembers himself.

“OUT.” He tries to yell, but falters the tiniest bit. She nods and leaves the room.

Falling into the nearest chair, Mr. Presley sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's right that he hasn't slept. He's been holed up in the study trying to make sense of some documents since last night. Somewhere around 3am, the frustration had turned to grief and he cried for an hour or so. He was making his way back to frustration when she came in.

Why had he responded to her kindness with such cruelty? He knows the answer but isn't ready to face the reality of it.

******

In the next room, Annabelle sits in front of the fireplace crying quietly into her apron. She's so lonely and tired of the harshness with which she's treated here. There's not even anyone she could tell about her struggles. She's alone.

And why had she tried to connect with him? Not only is he a gentleman, he's her master, and not a very nice one at that. But something about him and his emotional state touched her and she felt compelled to offer herself in some way. And for no discernible reason whatsoever, his rejection hurts worst of all.

She starts to cry big, heaving sobs, knowing they're audible but no longer caring. Let them get rid of her. Maybe she could leave this miserable place and let Mr. Presley light his own fires.

******

On his way to bed, Mr. Presley hears the unmistakable sound of a woman crying coming from the drawing room. He walks quietly to the door and peeks through the crack.

The new maid.

His heart shatters when he hears the depth of her despair as she sobs. She's probably crying because he was so hateful. He lightly puts his fingertips on the door to push it open and go to her. Then he stops. It takes everything inside him to turn from the door and leave her there crying.

******

When Annabelle gets back downstairs, the kitchen is bustling with activity. Mr. Presley is entertaining later that evening, so Mrs. Hall is in a tizzy getting everything ready. Most days she does just fine by herself since she's only cooking for one man upstairs and the help downstairs, but when he entertains, she wishes she had some help. Annabelle wanders through despondently and perches on a bench.

“Love, don't you have something else to do?” Mrs. Hall asks, sweat running down the side of her face.

“Not really. I've done all my morning work already.” Annabelle kicks the floor with the toe of her shoe. She's still having to work to keep from crying.

“Get over here and help me, then. I'm assuming you know how to peel and chop.”

“Yes ma'am. I did all the cooking when I lived with my… my parents.” Her voice catches in her throat and Mrs. Hall stops and actually looks at her with her red little nose and tear-stained face.

“Love, what's got you upset?” Mrs. Hall asks as Annabelle washes her hands and takes some potatoes to peel.

“Nothing, ma'am.”

“Call me Gladys, dear.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“Oh, I could never.” Mrs. Hall laughs.

“Even Mr. Presley calls me Gladys sometimes.” Annabelle looks up at her in shock. That's far more interesting than her troubles.

“May I ask why?”

“Sure you can. I practically raised that boy. His mother passed trying to birth his twin and I had Daniel who was nearly the same age. Colonel Presley was lost for a good while after the mistress died and he paid very little attention to his son. The nanny they'd hired wasn't a very nice woman and Elvis- I mean Mr. Presley- used to spend most of his time hiding from her down here with me. He played with my boys and I taught him to cook and play the pianoforte. He's almost like a son to me, despite the difference in station.” Annabelle’s eyes widen with Mrs. Hall’s words. She tries to imagine a young Mr. Presley running through the kitchen, learning to cook and playing with servant boys. But more than the image of him as a child, it's the look that Mrs. Hall has when she talks about him that surprises her. It's a look of deep respect and love. She wonders how long it's been since Mrs. Hall has spoken with him. Maybe he has changed. “Now why don't you tell me what's got you so troubled.”

Annabelle looks down at the potato she's peeling and decides that she needs someone more than she needs to keep her own secrets.

“It's funny you mention Mr. Presley.”

“Why, love?” Annabelle sighs.

“He's the reason I was upset. Well, not the whole reason, but kind of the last thing I could handle. No one here has been very kind to me, him least of all.” Mrs. Hall nods and smiles.

“Hm. He likes you.” Annabelle looks at her with her face scrunched in shock.

“No, he does not. I assure you.”

“He likes you and he knows he shouldn't. He's trying to keep you at arm’s length.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“How do you know? Maybe he hates me?”

“If he hated you he wouldn't speak to you at all. I know my boy. He likes you.”

“No, I'm sure that's not it.” Annabelle continues peeling potatoes in silence, but her heart is pounding. Why does the prospect of Mr. Presley liking her make her knees weak?

******

That evening, Mr. Presley has several friends over for dinner. They eat and play cards and have cigars and brandy and recount their most recent adventures in London. His closest friend, Mr. Jasper Davies, asks what everyone else is wondering.

“When will you be married, then?” They're not eager to lose the company of their bachelor friend, but they know the expectation now that he's the master of a great house.

“I have no designs on marriage anytime soon.” Mr. Presley answers, knowing this won't be realistic for very long. He'll have to marry sooner rather than later. Still, he's never found any particular young lady of his station that he liked well enough to marry. There had been one girl, an actress, that he had loved quite a bit before he joined the army, but she was not a viable partner for him. None of the ladies of the county interested him and he found most of them to be rather one-dimensional and boring.

The conversation about marriage continues, but Mr. Presley has a hard time focusing. For some reason, the new maid enters his mind. He thinks about her slender white hands, too delicate for the work she does. And the way her uniform follows her curves down to her waist and then hides the rest. What he wouldn't give to be able to see her legs and feet unobstructed. He lets his imagination go even further and suddenly a picture of her naked and sprawled on his bed appears. His cock twitches in his pants and he has to adjust and clear his throat to bring himself back to reality. That's a thought he cannot have, especially not in present company.

Eventually, everyone retires to one of the many bedrooms in the house. Mr. Presley stops briefly in the library with the vague hope that the maid might be there. Of course she's not, but the brandy he's had makes his logic a little faulty. He makes it back to his bedroom where his valet undresses him and puts him in bed.

It's not long before he realizes he's staring at his fireplace, imagining the maid on her knees in front of it. This image is quickly replaced by an image of her on her knees in front of him. He curses himself for the inappropriate images in his head and the way his dick hardens at the thought of her, but he can't stop his hand from finding himself under his nightshirt. She's so pretty and kind and graceful and oh, God, he'd give anything to see her and feel her pressed up against him as they tumble naked together in the bedclothes.

He moans softly as his hand pumps his cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, his thumb sweeping over the tip to collect the beads of precum as they gather. His hips buck into his palm and he strokes himself harder and faster. He tries to focus again on the actress that he normally thought of when he did this, but he can't. There is only the maid. The maid with her hands on him, with her mouth on him, with her thighs on either side of his hips as she sinks down onto him, with her lips parted and eyes closed as she reaches the peak of ecstasy and cries out his name. With that, he whimpers as he cums all over his hand, his cock throbbing and pulsing and leaking until his release has fully washed over him. He lays in his bed sweating and trying to catch his breath. The picture of her in his mind is so clear. He opens his mouth to whisper, but nothing comes out.

He doesn't even know her name.

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity

[nshtn]

Obviously I'm new to your blog and your writing etc. so for the uroboros headcanon request - what's your own personal favorite hc you have for Uroboros Wesker? Anything special that diverges from canon or where you take liberties? Do you consider one of your hcs to be unique to your interpretation? //chinhands

[ Albert Wesker AU info & HCs ]

[ psychological / behavioral, personal, silly ]

They are so derivative of the canon that at this point the canon is merely a cloth to unravel and make yarn to sew into what I perceive, loosely framing events around how my Wesker approaches things differently. It's not his biggest canon events that change, but much of the perceived filler and the ways in which he processes them.

I'm going to use this post to make a grander explanation and debut! Please, feel free to send follow-up questions for clarification. I adore writing for him and want to flesh him out <3.

ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [Mood Music]

| ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ |

| ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ |

TW for childhood trauma/C-PTSD, mentions of murder (and canon-typical violence), medical trauma...

Psychological:

He has alexithymia, learned sociopathy & psychopathy, raging C-PTSD from "familial" trauma, and an obsessive personality disorder with strong roots in maintaining unity and control.

Alexithymia: He struggles to identify positive emotions within himself that aren't crackling and popping. He prefers to drift in a none-too-powerful neutrality and sterilized apathy that feels safe because it's known. Emotions he is capable of easily slotting into, explaining, and approaching include confusion and interest, boredom and focus, confidence, anger and disgust. Emotions he most often forces down, struggles to identify (and thus properly express) or cuts away near-automatically include being ecstatic, fear, sadness and grief, empathetic compassion or sympathy, embarrassment and any kind of romance.

Sociopathy & Psychopathy: Wesker was not born as these things, he was made into them - manufactured. He has been spared no forge or flame, and has the deeply honed ability to cease feeling emotions that cause him to lose sight of his goals or disrupt his focus. This comes at the expense of fueling homicidal thoughts that rebound with the intensity of that repression. The only emotion he cannot bury to its' hilt is interest, which always springs back up later, a cockroach he can swat but cannot crush. Early into his career as a bio-weapons virologist, he is high-functioning. By the events of Resident Evil 5, he has degraded into manic and low-functioning.

C-PTSD: Growing up under Spencer's Umbrella indoctrination was nothing short of physical and psychological torture highlighted with the lingering current of medical trauma and social deprivation. Beatings would continue until morale improved, and food, water, and entertainment were privileges. Handlers, not parents, cared for him, and were routinely, purposefully cycled. Being angry or academically successful was the only thing that came with it no coattail of the hot iron of punishment. As a result, Wesker is socially maladjusted, icy, goal-married and purpose-driven, hair-splittingly sharp, pessimistic and sardonic - by many metrics, Project W's goal of fitting his initial hyperempathetic square of a personality into their round, clean-shaven peg of purpose was successful. However, not by all metrics...

Obsessive Disorder: Wesker was always genetically shackled to obsession. He has high glutamate and GABA - like many savants - and has all of the neurochemical changes associated with obsessive-compulsive behavior. Having obsession rewarded has led him to covet it and view it as a boon, allowing him to expend unhealthy focus on his goals. It, however, also plays into his inability to suppress interest and ultimately causes him to naturally slot into a compulsive need for control over even the most mundane aspects of life.

Despite this, he is not terribly violent nor does he spit forth the expected volley of constant rage. He does not enjoy the messy, frantic planning of execution and disposal; he prefers to approach situations with multiple level-headed plans of action, each plan more drastic than the last, until it reaches the point at which no other possible solution exists but utmost violence.

When he is forced to solve his problems with violence, though, he does not shy from dirty tactics and has no codex for honor in death. He will employ any tactic necessary to secure his unyielding success, whether that be causing global catastrophe, mass murder, planting spies, the violation of the geneva conventions, or any other long list of canon-typical violence native to the ultimate chase of his ideals.

There is only one thing that Wesker does not directly involve himself in when the need arises, though he is willing to do so indirectly: the involvement of children. He is not Spencer. (In fact, when in direct contact with children, he is rendered docile.)

Personal, unsorted:

He refutes a perfectly white labcoat and his choice of dress is intentionally obstinate and spiteful.

Wearing a full white labcoat fills him with inescapable dread and a feeling of childlike vulnerability that he avoids at all costs. Even in his early Umbrella days, he finds a way to get his hands on a light blue one, yellow, anything...

His later, freely-made choice of full black attire is a presentation of his internal doom-and-gloom and a psychosexual liberty - his tacticool skintight choices are intentful, he very much likes both the look and feel of tight, restrictive attire and the shine of latex and leather.

Wesker has suspicious scars. He hides them.

'Experimentation' on his form as a child as a form of punishment for rebellion has left his hands and the tender veins of his wrists compromised by ugly, threatening pockmarks. Thus, gloves.

He has had his appendix pre-emptively removed by Spencer to reduce the chance of downtime later.

He was sterilized early to reduce the chance of straying from the path of Project W, but it did not hold. This is, however, a point of insecurity for him irregardless.

His relation to Spencer was never terribly positive, the man's control over him less so, but following the reveal of Project W he has an unmatched, broiling, tossing-turning-spitting-boiling hatred.

He murders Spencer in a much more personal, slow and torturous way than his canon counterpart.

He goes into a manic depressive state that ultimately leads to the creation of Uroboros and his downfall as a result of this, though he was already veering towards a similar path because of his nurture as an imperfect man-made monster.

I am a Wesker Sweet Tooth truther, sorry (though he is picky as a result of a rebellion against childhood's near-Soylenting).

He exerts an unhealthy calorie-counting control over his diet, but depressions and S.T.A.R.S-era forward see him progressively loosen this to account for the occasional sweetie.

Big into anything that takes absurd skill to make, like Petit Fours, Macarons, Baked Alaska and Crepe Cakes (minis!) Ordered, scantly made; the time cannot be found to practice this, but in another life he might have been a profound baker.

Secretly appreciative of funnel cake and You Tiao, but they're a once-a-year thing, if at all.

Tried dehydrated ice cream from an MRE once. Chasing the mouth-feel stim ever since, he's experimented and found a hidden cache of joy in the fiber-rich bland sweet'n'salty of sprouted young coconut.

He personally makes Springerle around Christmas and carves out time to do so, then packs one or two into his diet to come as they soften. They are sweet and dense, satisfying his urge for a biscuit and a sweet in one in the initial four to six months following, and they're advantageous to make.

Likes spicy to kick him awake in the morning. Strong chai tea is a nicety. Loose-leaf pilled and snooty.

Wesker's relation with William Birkin was one of admiration, equality, intellectual debate and, eventually, feelings of great interest.

His feelings were not fully returned out of an abundance of fear and caution, but they were occasionally entertained and experimented with before the arrival of Annette. It was simply infeasible.

Birkin was an intellectual equal, if not a superior. He has fantasized of the duo they could have been had he dosed Birkin with Uroboros. Birkin was one of few willing to debate virology with him and tone-match his icy arguments, even capable of winning.

He never stopped admiring Birkin, leading to the incorporation of G into Uroboros. It is an incorporation that finds its' roots sleeping with subconscious grief, what-ifs and could-have-beens he cannot afford to acknowledge with neither time nor the sanity to grapple them.

Wesker's relation with Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine were initially sour and resentful of their normalcy and outward, unlimited expressions, but quietly bloomed forth from this into crestfallen admiration, friendship, and ultimately, deathly obsession (for Chris, this also included love). [When not pairing him with a reader, of course].

Team Alpha were his piggies. His toys to break, his toys to play with, mind and mold and mentor. The Mansion Incident was easy enough to sleep Team Bravo, but the most uncommon emotion was fished from his depths and chained to his demeanor with Team Alpha: empathy, compassion.

Chris was his favorite, though. Physically equal, matching his sardonic wit in a natural easy charm as cool as he was cold. Chris' planning and teamwork skill eventually superseded Marini's, and then it grew to crux even his own. The curiosity sparked and ignited furiously at the idea that his intellect alone could not amass the sheer unity and control Chris could command signed with love and feeling.

Spencer's gift of infection is Prototype Leech Progenitor, and holds the name Progenitor 0067, which is why it is printed out as PG67A/W [Progenitor 0067 Albert/Wesker.]

It's startlingly stable, but it begins to unravel as time drags on. It is made unstable by emotion in a manner not entirely dissimilar to T-Phobos, both enhanced and injured by rage and subconscious desire; mutation increases laterally with low dopamine, high norepinephrine, and an uptick in cortisol and cholecystokinin. It is inevitably bound to cause negative side-effects as negative mutations begin to fester unchecked.

Its' primary symptom of infection includes thermochromic bioluminescence of the iris and keratinous growths. The iris' melanocytes are invaded by the virus and begin to respond to nerve endings' temperature signalling with aptly-named luciferase and rapid uncomplicated hypervascularization, leading to a red-yellow appearance.

It does not have the stabilizing matrix of Ebola genes, much to Wesker's chagrin.

It is compatible with Uroboros in a very odd way that no other virus is because of how much of its' gene expression is genetically leech.

He survives the events of RE5.

He mutates into a very large and very feral Uroboros monster with hundreds of whipping appendages, but, notably, his body remains and does not explode into a Mkono or Aheri. Here's a chibi version of his monstrous form.

Feed the feral beast enough biomass and the man's consciousness nestled within will be hooked and fished to the surface.

He requires ~5,000 - ~6,700 calories a day to maintain baseline non-feral consciousness, and far, far more to regain his intellect.

Silly:

He can sing very well.

Very much a shower hummer. Brisk cold showers cannot hold back the tide of humming Don Henley's Inside Job under his breath.

S.T.A.R.S-era saw him purchase a Walkman F15. (In fact, it would not be rare to catch him humming as he slavered over paperwork during this time, nor was he bashful of it).

He likes Jurassic Park as a book and the automatons and quadruped suits in the movies, but does not like the movies' plot portrayal.

He finds it shameful that they stripped most of the allegories and paleontological accuracy to focus on Dinosaur Scary. Absolutely a feathered theory truther who thinks Thomas Henry Huxley had it right.

Those velociraptors were utahraptors to him. No other explanation in his mind, don't try to play him for a fool.

He struggles to read subtext in books and prefers writing that isn't flowery.

He's got the same affliction as Einstein - he's autistic. He was spared any kind of clear, visible regression or failure to thrive of other skills unlike most savants. In fact, all of Project W's prospective pupils are autistic savants. Flowery, emotion-welled text gels with neither his genetics nor his upbringing.

His accent is Umbrella-manufactured and specific to it.

Diphthongs from repeated 'o' are transformed into 'au', like British, but 'r' and 't' are both retained entirely. It has its' roots in British Received Pronunciation, the traditional 'posh upper-class'ccent'.

He actually tamps it down somewhat... it's normally pretty strong. Exposure to S.T.A.R.S also transformed it into its' own filtered beast.

It shines through to a crippling degree the angrier he is. Bile-spitting Wesker sounds like he's going to roast you for your stock holdings and tea choices. (S.T.A.R.S-era Chris and Marini found this hard to take seriously)

He's a yapper level 100. So is Birkin.

You are sooner to die from thirst after receiving a disciplinary monologuing longer than any published TEDTalk (spoken as if it were copied from an official document) than you are to be murdered for simping or being pissy. He entertains debate, but is so debate-minded and source-pilled that you will be verbally beaten into submission if for nothing else than the glorious feeling of academic domination (unless you're Birkin).

He is normally quiet unless provoked into said monologue, with a deep and judgmental inner voice that never ceases.

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 1x08 After the Rain (Part 1)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Last episode of Season 1 - let's do this!

Family Time

These big family scenes are some of my favorite - mostly because there's usually so much going on during them, and everyone gets a beat. Anthony's sulking (and throwing groundwork for Season 2); Gregory and Hyacinth are bantering, Benedict and Eloise are hyping up the Lady Whistledown plot, and Colin's in the background pouring over his maps, because after all the drama he is peacing outta there.

Violet enters exclaiming that Francesca will be returning (because it's the finale and we should try to have all 8 in the same room again). Colin snarks that she can update them on how great not being in London is. Glad to see Colin's continuing to add humor back in his life, but oh man is he ready to be anywhere but there.

Also, Violet recounts all the drama of the season from Daphne and Simon to Anthony and Siena, though she fascinatingly does not mention Marina.

Penelope and Marina

Meanwhile, back at the Featherington Estate, Penelope goes to check in on Marina. She is fine after her bout with the tea -- but now thinks she's magically cured herself of pregnancy. Ah, the medical information of the 19th century. Poor girl.

Penelope isn't so sure, but she really knows nothing about medicine anyway, so she kind of just lets it go.

Penelope then remarks that Marina caused 'quite a flutter'. And it's interesting - despite some of the friction that was caused between the two of them, I still believe that Penelope still likes Marina, in general, and while it's clear Marina is anxious to return home, I do think Penelope will miss her being around - she did add a little spice to their day.

I have to wonder, too, if Penelope does feels slight guilt for causing such a tizzy herself? But then, I don't think she does. I think she believes she did the right thing -- but still feels awkward about it with Marina.

Marina then apologies for the whole ordeal. And I do think she's sincere here. She did what she thought was best and in her own self interests to protect herself and an unborn child. And now that she thinks it's all over, she can go back to being her again.

Marina goes on to say that Penelope was right - that Colin is a good man with a good heart, and I mean -- the pride in Pen's eyes. She's almost bashful about it, but she's like - I know how good he is. I've seen it for years. Thank you for acknowledging that. It's a fascinating little look that isn't about her at all - but about someone else seeing what she does in him.

Marina then goes on to somewhat try to mend a cruelty. She doesn't have to say the next part, she could have left it at -- Colin is a good dude. But she makes it a point to acknowledge that not only is Penelope good to him, but that some day Colin will notice her. And, like, this is incredibly kind. Marina went out of her way to destroy all of Pen's hope for her own personal gain. And, maybe as an apology, or maybe as something she genuinely senses, she's restoring some of Pen's hope.

And, of course, this works as narrative foreshadowing. The show is taking a moment to say -- hey, the real love story is between these two idiots who are bumbling along on their road to each other. We're not there yet - but we're getting there. And I love that.

The scene ends with the arrival of Sir Phillip Crane, and this is where the narrative shifts. The story of Colin and Marina is done, and Marina is going to continue on with her own story into a new (and final) part. One in which Penelope really doesn't have anything to do - now that the Polin portion of the storyline is done (in relation to Marina).

Sir Phillip Crane

I really like how Penelope is kind of taking a caring and protective stance here. She and Marina are on the same side again, and while Penelope really doesn't have anything to do in this scene - she's poised as Marina's ally. She's holding Marina's hand, and has her back, and wants to make sure she's okay -- while also shooting Crane some very watchful looks.

Also, somewhat of an aside, since it isn't directly related to Penelope, we learn that George died on the battlefield, and Marina leaves -- and we get a genuinely emotional moment for Marina. And I think it helps frame her entire story, if you go back and watch it again. Marina encased her own feelings, her own heartache, her own heart. She did do everything she did out of self preservation, because she felt she was truly and utterly alone. And upon learning that George hadn't forsaken her -- she just breaks down and is able to grieve and it's a really powerful moment. I don't agree with Marina's choices, and I think it would have been a terrible thing if she and Colin had gotten married -- but I also understand her and her choices and I think she's a rather complicated character, too.

I do appreciate that this show does have more depth to it than just pretty people having sex on the stairs. There's a lot of emotional complexity in the Marina story line.

[This scene takes place six-ish minutes later, but I thought I'd lump it all together.]

Penelope is in the background here, so it gives me a minute to ponder about something... Phillip Crane is the male protagonist of book 5. Which is Eloise's book. And, I just wonder if this is really the show paying the long game here with Eloise's story? Or if they decided to just do something different? I have no idea! Marina dies from depression and attempts on her own life in the book -- and I would hate to see this character, whom we've grown to like meet that fate. Not to mention, show Eloise is sooo different than her book counterpart, it's hard to imagine her falling in love with this guy. It's all so weird. I really don't know what they're going to do with it.

Penelope has a couple of interesting reactions in this scene, however. The first being when Marina says that she cannot marry Crane because she does not love him. And Penelope is kind of nodding along in agreement here. Because she isn't there for her mother's assertion that you should just marry for the status and security of it. She does believe in love, and believes one should marry for that reason.

The other look, it's dark, and I can't quite get a read on it. But it's when Marina is telling Portia off -- stating that she's done with lies and deception and thinking that now that she's without a child she can be true to herself again. And I wonder if Penelope is somewhat envious of her gumption. How much would she like to stand up to her own mother but can't? But also - how much she feels she can't be her true self and has to use Lady Whistledown to express it? Idk what the intention of the look is supposed to be, but I do think it lends credence to the fact that Penelope is a deeply complex character, too, one whose motivations are not black or white, either.

And... that's where I'm stopping for now. :)

[sus-bee]

im normal no one look at me

[welcometogrouchland]

I miss them so bad (Dick and Damian)

[coquelicoq]

actually natori has some kind of tracking talisman on matoba at all times. that's how he knew where to abduct matoba from for Operation: Kitty Cat City. matoba fully knows about it; it's why he wasn't at all surprised to find a paper doll in natsume's hair after the mask youkai debacle (matoba internally as he watched it fly away: classic mother hen shuuichi-san momence 🥰). because this is matoba "boundaries? what are those? can you eat them?" seiji we're talking about, he's not bothered by this "violation" of his "privacy"; rather, he finds it fittingly clingy (it is, after all, only right that natori should be keeping tabs on him obsessively). sometimes the talisman gets confused and sticks to yesterday's outfit, so he always checks to make sure he has it on the way out the door (his pocket patdown is "keys, lighter, wallet, exorcism supplies, shuuichi-san's cute lil tracker he thinks i don't know about <3"). i wouldn't be surprised if he's figured out how to uno reverse it and now uses it to track natori's location as well. this may not technically be canon but it is probably all 100% true in an important way that transcends canon, we just never hear about it because it isn't relevant to natsume's journey 😌

[hecksupremechips]

To also go off of the point about cop!akihiko being annoying to me I gotta say that Akihiko as a character is very hit or miss with me because of how different adaptations of p3 will subtly alter his character. I felt like in portable with the femc route he comes off best, he’s a bit of a hothead with an obsession with fighting, but he’s overcompensating his strength so he doesn’t feel as weak and helpless as he’s been in many situations. He defines strength in a very literal sense, being physically strong and using that to protect others, but he’s lacking in emotional strength as a result. And in particular in this version I think he’s portrayed as a bit more goofy and sweet in a sense. He cares deeply for you as a friend and leader but he struggles with finding the words to describe how he feels. Hes kinda naive and gullible and has trouble noticing his surroundings. He has no clue what he’s doing but his heart is in the right place. I think he just comes off much more human and he has flaws, many many flaws, and that makes him all the more lovable

But then in other adaptations and spinoffs it’s like. They look at him through some hetero male bullshit filter and seem to view him as a lot more admirable and cool. Like in p3 dancing, theres literally an event where he’s talking with Junpei and Minato and they’re gushing about how perfect Akihiko is and how he doesn’t seem to have ANY flaws at all. And it becomes clear his inability to flirt with women just gets added as a way to make sure you, the Straight Male Player, don’t get insecure being next to such Perfection because at the end of the day, you’re still more charming and sexy than he will ever be because you’re better. It’s a “flaw” that’s only there to shield a sensitive male ego. And then in arena I mean, come on. He’s overly beefy and is a damn cop and travels the world and loves Protein™️ it’s his whole personality and he’s so clearly meant to be seen as hot but like, he’s just some shitty hetero male fantasy. Hes what the writers deem to be a Perfect Man that every guy wishes he could be, but don’t worry he’s still bad with women so you don’t gotta worry about him stealing your property- I mean, girlfriend!

And though I’ve not played reload and don’t really plan to anytime soon, judging from his social episodes they seem to have a similar problem. Akihiko comes off as a lot less approachable, like the year age gap is just too much of a barrier to get to know him properly. And he doesn’t have that dorky sweetness he has in portable, he’s just that perfect hetero male fantasy guy and don’t you fucking worry- he still has his protein powder with him

[arolesbianism]

Yet another beautiful day to have the Maxwel tag blocked (can't see half of the posts in the Wendy tags)

[gendercriticalthinking]

The way that my friend felt disappointed when he found out as a kid that an androgynous character he idolized was a woman because he quote "couldn't relate to the character anymore" and the way that the creator of Celeste """discovered he was non-binary""" because he wrote a female character that he was able to relate to are branches off of the same vein of misogyny I think

[fruit-colored-ninja]

Ohhhhhh my god I try so hard to be chill and normal about this but I’m sick of every morro redemption fic involving Lloyd being wildly forgiving of morro and being his number one supporter and being a “good cousin” I’m so sick of it I’m so sick of it I’m so sick of it

[maddy-ferguson]

Sick of getting called homophobic for not enjoying or shipping byler. Sorry but will stans are right for not shipping him with a guy who said his life started the day he disappeared. There is no enjoyement here aside from supporting it to piss off actual homophobes. The ship itself sucks ass.

you're so funny for sending this to me like am i supposed to agree that it sucks😭😭 but yeah i know what you mean like are people not allowed to dislike a ship anymore as long as you're not being weird it's literally fine it's A STRANGER THINGS SHIP

[fefairys]

gotta wonder sometimes if new people are put off by my rambling lol because i am the bitch that leaves a small novel in discord dms when you are asleep

[secondbeatsongs]

as a bi person, the bisexual flag brings me infinite joy and always puts a smile on my face, however as a person who has a Passion for Graphic Design, that undersaturated shade of purple infuriates me when it's used digitally

like, on an actual flag - which was its original purpose - it looks great!

those look fine! lovely, even! with the semi-transparent fabric, the way it catches the sunlight, it looks beautiful!

but now look at how it looks digitally

the pink and blue are so vibrant compared to the sad, lonely lavender!

and let's look at this statement from Michael Page, the creator of the bi flag:

(sidenote: he created this flag in 1998, so if his takes on bisexuality is different from yours, it's okay to notice that! a lot has changed since the 90s when it comes to lived experiences and the way we describe them. but, it's also important to respect his thoughts about this and the way he presented them, even if today, we'd probably not say that bi people "blend unnoticeably into both the gay/lesbian and straight communities.")

so in pantone colors, the pink is 226 C, the blue is 286 C, and the purple of the flag is 258 C.

but...here's the deal

Michael talks here about how the key to understanding the symbolism is to know that the purple blends into both the pink and blue. and on a physical flag, I think you can see that!

but digitally, it absolutely does not blend. it clashes badly, and looks oddly separate from the other two colors.

which got me wondering...what purple do you get if you actually blend 226 C and 286 C?

oh! oh, my god.

look at that! look at how nicely it fits between those colors!

look at it next to the original color scheme! look at how much more vibrant the purple is!

and friends. this is just blending through rgb! you get even more purple variations when you use other color spaces!

let's compare all of them:

(top: original, lab. middle: lrgb, lch. bottom: rgb, hsl)

look at all of the different purple options you can get just by combining these two colors!

if you want almost too-vibrant saturation, you can go hsl, if you want something more relaxed that's closer to the original, you can go lab or lrgb. and if you want to split the difference, lch is bright and violet, while rgb is there with its saturated but darker purple.

anyway, I guess I don't really have a point here? this isn't so much an informational post as it is Me Getting Weird About Colors, but I think it is a useful lesson about how colors look very different on screens compared to how they look on objects in real life.

and sometimes, I think it's okay to compensate for that.

out of all of these, this is my favorite bi flag:

it's the one where the colors were blended in lab color space. for me, the lighter, softer purple is close enough to the original bi flag purple, while also feeling like a smoother blend of the blue and pink

but that's just me! and it might not even look the same to you, since every screen is different, because technology is a nightmare!

anyway, thank you for coming with me on this colorful journey! I will now retreat back to inkscape and make pained sounds about inkstitch gradients until something tangible pulls me back into reality